


Phone Booth

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Age Difference, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Claire has a superhero problem, Coulson thinks Daisy is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, Daisy and Coulson both love movies, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hell's Kitchen, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Male-Female Friendship, Separations, Sexual Content, Teasing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, coulson's past, disguises, references to other superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7738096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson picks up a ringing pay phone.  Inspired by tumblr convos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson gets an unexpected call.

He can't remember the last time he used a public pay phone.  
  
High school, right? To get his mom to pick him up after that club he was at was busted. Cops everywhere. She had to leave her shift to come get him.

He’d actually sort of forgotten they existed.

But this one won't shut up.

The rest of _that_ night was spent sitting in a hospital waiting room, sobering up, and he fell asleep across the chairs, until her shift was over.

It was light outside by then.  And he was still hungover. He remembers her telling him on the walk to the car, as she put her arm around him, “You’re still my baby.”

SHIELD stopped using pay phones as protocols before _he_ was born. Unless, they wanted to leak information.

It's weird. Like a scene from a movie, and he's just standing here, watching it ring. Thinking about his past, instead of thinking about meeting the nurse he contacted in Hell’s Kitchen, also working the night shift. 

just making the connection between the two.

 _No_. Surely not.

She was supposed to meet him. _In person_.

He walks towards the pay phone station, just as the elderly man he noticed, while he profiled the dimly-lit street, heads for it at the same time.  
  
And…he's too late.   
  
The man picks up the phone, and adjusts his heavy glasses, and yells, "Hello?" into it, before he hangs up.  
  
"They hung up," the man tells him, in his Brooklyn accent, lifting his hand from his pocket to put his change in.  “I have to make a call.  Do you mind?”

“No,” he shrugs. “Don’t mind at all.”

Yes-he-totally-minds, but this is his life.   Always one step behind.

Probably wasn’t even a _thing_. No one does that anymore, except in movies.

He goes back to casing the street, triple checking the people walking up and down it.

No repeats.  He’s been here for an hour, and he’s not seeing the same faces walking by. He feels sure he wasn’t followed.

This isn’t an op, though. Just him being desperate, and-

“I’m done,” the old man says, touching his arm, suddenly beside him.  “That phone is ringing again.”

It is. 

He listens, hesitating for a moment. Then he rolls his eyes at his own absurd fantasy life marching its way into reality again, and swipes up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

“This is Phil,” he says, then pauses.  He hears the breathing, first. After he said his name, and hesitates.

“I'm hanging up now.”  But he doesn’t.

“Do you have the wrong number?” he asks, the impatience leaking out of his voice.

At the exact moment, as he's about to hang up, he hears a reply.

“No.”

He sucks in a breath, and clutches the receiver back to his ear.

It's her. He _knows_ it.

Leaning up against the station, he hides his face, so that people can’t read his lips while he talks.

“That's a lot of heavy breathing. What kind of call is this?”

Dammit.

He holds his breath in. It's the first time he's heard her voice in half a year.  Why does she think this is funny?

“Are you going to ask me what I'm wearing?” he shoots back, annoyed.

“No.  I know what you’re wearing.”

He swallows and resists the urge to look back at the street, towards the windows to see if she’s watching him.  If she’s actually _here_.

“Then I’ll ask _you_ what you’re wearing, since that might actually provide some useful-“

“Intel?” she finishes for him. “I’m not really interested in SHIELD knowing what I’m wearing these days.”

“ _I’m_ interested,” he says, trying to push past the innuendo, and his own frustrations.

“And you’re SHIELD.”

“Is this line secure?” he huffs, staring to chew on his bottom lip before he catches himself.

“What do you think?”

He sighs, and then starts to uncoil, lose the tension in his voice.  Stop acting like he’s in a movie, and that he just answered a call meant for him on a pay phone.

“I trust you,” he answers, after a moment, and turns way from the station, his back to it, and starts to look around again.

“Yeah. You always do.”

He doesn’t like the hint of regret there.  Like there could be a reason he shouldn’t trust her.

“So, what am I wearing?” he asks lightheartedly.

There’s a bit of a laugh, like he’s caught her off guard.  Good. Turnabout is fair play.

“Not one of your nice suits,” she answers, shyly. _Warmly_.  And it throws him off guard again.

“I haven’t worn those in a while,” he nods, looking at the windows nearby. “Try again.”

“I’m not sure how to describe you…these days.” 

He finds his eyes wandering down to his own clothing, running a hand over his shirt, then his chin, suddenly self-conscious.

“I could say the same,” he decides, as a reply.

“Oh? What have you noticed?”

“I don't want to do this,” he says, feeling something coiling in him, her voice connecting him back to himself. Like she sees a part he had forgotten, or set aside, and now it’s chasing him.

She sighs, so heavy. “Yeah. I know.”

Or, he’s chasing it.

He twists the metal phone cord with the finger of his prosthetic, trying to stop _thinking_ so much. Listening. For _her_.

‘What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.  What else would he be doing?

“That noise,” she tells him, pointedly.

“It's nothing,” he says, stopping the motion, realizing the repetitive sound it’s made, and puts his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

“Look, you can't use Claire as a go-between,” she goes on. “You'll get her in a lot of trouble.”

“Understood.” 

And he can already see where this is going.  He wasn’t trying to use Claire that way, he was just trying to find out if she was-

“I'm okay, alright?”

Does she think that when he said he didn’t want to do this, that he meant-

“No, not alright. I want to see you,” he says quickly into the receiver. “Not…talk to you, through a pay phone. On a public street.”

“I don't think that's…one of your better ideas.”

“Personally, or professionally?”  He's worried she'll hang up. That he’ll lose her again.

“You want to see me.”

He’s about to answer, when he feels his phone buzz in his jeans pocket, and it startles him. It's almost too much.

Then he fishes it out, so aware of his own body, and on edge.

He groans. It's only _slightly_ embarrassing.  The fact that she might be watching him, mingling with the feeling that maybe he doesn’t care at this point.

“Coulson?”

“It’s fine, I’m-,” he starts, and then looks at the phone in his prosthetic, uses his thumb to open the message, while he bends to hold the receiver against his ear.

It’s her, only…different.  Her hair is darker, and she looks tired.  He starts wondering about a whole list of things. What brought on these changes, why her smile seems so forced, but-

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

And he knows it’s too much.  Too honest, and he knows that tiny noise she made, could be for _so_ many reasons, none of which he’s sure he wants to know.

“I like the beard.”

“Okay. This is getting a little-“  He wants to suggest out of control.  He wasn’t expecting _this_.

“Too flirty?” she finishes. “ _Sexy_ -ish? I mean, we're spies, right?”

She sounds like she’s out of breath, and he’s trying to not embarrass himself here, standing out in the open on this street.  
  
“Right,” he replies, twisting around in the space to hide again, holding onto the top of the station.  “We are _definitely_ spies.”  
  
“This is what spies do in movies.”

“This is what they do… before they meet,” he agrees with her, nodding to himself. “Yes.”  The tone of her voice right now, it’s killing him. 

He hangs up the receiver.

“What happens when they _do_ meet?”

“You obviously like movies,” he manages, as he turns around.

“You tell me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson chases after Daisy (as always).

The tension hanging in the air between them seems to attract…onlookers.

At least, that’s what it feels like, staring back at her in silence as they stand apart on the sidewalk.

And he finds himself at a loss for words, the feelings coming out of him on the phone conversation taking on another context when she’s right here in front of him.

In the movies, something dramatic would happen now.

It would be like the whole world didn’t exist, except for the two of them.

Depending on the movie, he supposes.  

Of course, _they_ would get the one that involves some random act of chaos taking place a block over.

They both reflex, hearing gunshots and immediate shouting, both looking instinctually in the direction from where they came.

He sees her body tense, not like when she was a SHIELD agent.  It’s the kind of thing that must come from living in a way where you’re never really safe.

It twists up his insides, and it makes him think back to years ago. Her telling him about people trying to break into her van when she was on her own then.

This must show on his face, too, because she flicks her eyes up at him, and they look the way he feels.

Like a mirror.

“I should probably-“ she starts.

“Go,” he nods, encouraging, and he takes a step towards her only as she runs in the direction opposite of him.

So that she doesn’t see.

He should go after her, only, he’s not supposed to be here. To be-

 _Alive_.  It’s why he can’t be Director.  And with that gone, he can’t protect her. He couldn’t stop the new Director using the Sokovia Accords as an excuse to chase after her, and other Inhumans like her.

Being seen with her would only make things worse.  Call everything about their relationship even more into question. 

The kind of question that maybe they’re not even ready to answer, yet.

He closes his eyes and tries to shut it off, tells himself it’s for the best.  This is what _she_ wants.  She can handle this.  She’s been handling everything on her own so far-

“Worst romance I've ever seen.”

“Excuse me?” he asks as he turns, irritated, already recognizing the old man's voice.

“You already missed your chance. Only hope now is to run after her.”

He rolls his eyes again. He _wants_ to. It's like an instinct that has been his constant, _unwelcome_ , companion going on six months now.  
  
This time, he didn't even find her. She found him.

Panic starts to set in. Then suspicion.

“Do you live around here?”  
  
“Yeah,” the old man shrugs. “So what?”  
  
“Do you _know_ her?” he presses.  
  
“I'm just here for the show, pal,” he sniffs. “And right now, I want a refund.”  
  
Was this a set up?  
  
The old man holds his palm out, and Coulson huffs, as he pulls out his wallet and looks inside.  
  
“I've got twenty bucks.”  
  
“That's not even what it costs to go to the movies these days,” he complains. “Why, when I was a young man-“  
  
They both jerk at the sound of an explosion, and he shoves the money into the man's hand and quickly fishes out his phone.  
  
“I know what she does,” the guy says, pocketing the money. “Just go help her. That's all she needs right now.  Someone on her side.”  
  
“I'm not supposed to be here,” he shoots back, through gritted teeth, trying to explain without having to explain.  
  
“What, do you need a disguise? Some of the guys around here, they do that.” He takes a moment to look him up and down. “Pointy horns and leather. Probably not your thing.”

Instead, he grabs the hat off the man’s head, and pulls the scarf off his neck then puts them on, wrapping the scarf around his head to conceal his face.

“Hey!” the guy yells.

“I’ll pay you back later,” he tries to reply, sounding ridiculous, muffled by the scarf, as he runs down the street after her.

The pain in his leg is starting to get uncomfortable, but he pushes past it, and it takes him a few blocks to reach her.

He ignores the stares of the onlookers, they’re probably used to this by now based on all the reports he’s read.

It makes sense that she would retreat to here, and the same time, she can slip in and out, between the other’s sensationalized accounts.

This is where she grew up.

He tries to not think about that as he ducks around the corner and checks out the scene, which, by SHIELD standards, only looks like a mild skirmish.

The car on fire must have been the cause of the explosion.  Several of the nearby windows are shattered, and the street is empty.

It seems like Dais-callherquakecallherquake-he tells himself like a mantra, is using her powers to scale the fire scape to the roof.  
  
It's amazing, seeing her practical bounding flights of stairs like the small giant she is.   
  
He gets lost in it, for a moment until he recalls her going alone, up to the roof with Malick.  Finding her there. And he heads into the building after her.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

He halts at the foot of the stairs, watching the lunky men who are setting up demolitions charges on the bottom floor.

These aren't military guys, but he has the feeling they're the kind of guys that give this part of the city its reputation.

“Local building inspector,” he yells through the scarf, raising his weapon. “Do you have a permit?”

The two men glance between them, and he already knows how this is going to go.

“We're exterminators,” one says, holding his hands up, his fingers closed around the detonator in one.

“I thought we were developers,” the other starts in, sneering, getting ready to pull a gun from his side.

“Good,” he answers, managing to fire off a comment, before he fires.

“Then I know who to shoot first.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson meets Claire.

“Hey, ordinary guy? Next time, don’t play hero, huh?”

His eyes focus, now that he’s awake, and he sees Claire leaning over him, bandaging his arm.

He can’t help but smile, while it makes him suddenly circumspect. He looks past her and it’s still a blur. Probably medicated.

“Don’t knock pulp heroes. You always knock the old way of doing things.”

It’s the old man, sitting in a chair, and he can make out he’s wearing his hat and scarf again. Smirking, guessing at his tone, at Coulson laid out on the couch.

Claire turns over her shoulder to stare him down. “You mean back before people were black _and_ indestructible?”

“Point taken,” he says, standing up out of the chair.  “You guys cross the Kingpin, he crosses you off.  Friendly reminder!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving him off. “You’re still alive. There’s some leftovers in the fridge, if you want them.  You mooch.”

“I’d stay for the ending,” he says, coming to stand next to Coulson on the couch. “But, sadly, I have the feeling my version would be better.”

The man tips his hat to him, and he grimaces a reply, slowly meeting Claire’s glance at him as she presses her lips together and sits back on the couch.  They wait until he’s gone.

“So, I looked in your wallet,” she says, handing it back to him. “What’s the real story?”

“I’m SHIELD,” he tells her, apologetically, wriggling to put it away in his back pocket.

“Not a reporter after all.” She shakes her head, like she’s mad at herself. “You really sold me on it.”

“I’m sorry. I needed to know if I could trust you.”

“Well, there’s your trust,” she says, reaching to smack him lightly on the bandage.

“And, I’m not _that_ ordinary,” he smirks, lifting his prosthetic.

“Not my area of expertise,” she smiles. “But, if you ever feel like sharing with us little guys….” she goes on, rising off the couch as she looks up over his shoulder. “Call me.”

He tries to turn, and realizes there’s a blind spot he can’t see.

“You were right.  He’ll follow you anywhere,” Claire says.

“I didn’t mean for you to say that out....loud…”

Her voice drifts off as he hears Claire’s footsteps against the floor, and he waits, while she comes in quietly, and sits in the spot Claire left on the couch.

“You _did_ stop the building from going down,” she begins. “And it _was_ a trap. Just not for _me_.”

“I'm sorry.” He means it. It's not like he wanted to cause her any more pain. "Thanks for looking out for me."

“It really twisted me up, finding you like that.”

And he deserves this. She didn’t ask for his help.

The guy shot him, and he chased him up the stairs and then they both tumbled together back to the bottom.

That’s all he remembers.

“Did we get the bad guys?” he asks, hopefully.

“Yeah,” she nods. “I pulled him off you, then saw the blood, and-“

“I wasn’t trying to prove something, Daisy,” he interrupts. “It’s just…”  He sucks in a deep breath.

“I love you.”

He was trying to find the right words, but that was all that came to mind.  He doesn’t have any excuses left. It wasn’t a mission.  There was no directive, or order, other than his own compulsion to find her.

She looks down at her hands, set on her lap for moment. “Thanks for not calling in the National Guard for this one.”

His eyes roll away, trying not to tear up.  He’s never said that to someone.  And this is just him being a fool, still wanting a fantasy.  And it’s all his own fault.

Then he feels her hand touch his chin, turning his face back towards her.

“Do you mind not being SHIELD guy, for a little while longer?”

“Whatever you need,” he answers, pressing her hand with his own against his face.

“No.  I’m asking what you want.”

“I want you,” he tells her, then leans forward, hesitating at first, watching her, before he touches his mouth to hers. Still waiting for permission.

She nuzzles against him, like she won’t give him what he wants, unless he asks for it.  It makes him realize, how long this has been going on between them, in some form or another.

He slides his prosthetic hand beneath the nape of her neck, and kisses her, letting every feeling for her he’s been holding back push to the surface.

Then she’s kissing him back, and they’re the same, and it’s better than every fantasy he’s pushed away.

She pulls him in closer to her, and he groans, as he tries to crawl across her on the couch, reposition himself, so that they don’t have to let go, for even a moment.

“Uh uh, guys, not here.”

They break apart, instantly, sliding back to opposite ends of the couch, seeing Claire staring at them in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“It’s cute, but, I patch you up, you go.  Those are my rules.”                        

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and stands up off the couch and finds his jacket, sliding it on, noticing the hole on the arm is sewn shut. “Thanks,” he says, lifting it towards her.

“Sure,” she replies, flatly.

“She’s just mad I caught her making out with an indestructible guy,” Daisy says, smiling at him mischievously as she stands.

“Daisy….?” Claire tells her, walking forward and swiping up the bottle of meds to hand to her. “You ruined date night and bled on my floor.”

“Thank you, as always, for your hospitality,” she replies, hugging at Claire and giving her a quick kiss. “Tell Luke I said hello.”

“Goodbye,” Claire tells her, as she shuts the door after them.

Coulson gives Daisy a look as they hear Claire mutter on the other side of the door.

“Dammit. I’m such a sucker.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson loves everything about Daisy.

“It’s just my van, it’s not far,” she tells him, sounding a little giddy, and nervous, as they walk down the street.

This should be the quietest part of the night, but it’s not in his head. His thoughts are so loud at the moment.

“I thought that it would be easier, if I was alone,” she goes on.

He wonders if she really thought that would work.  Or if she was just hurting so much, it was the only thing she could do to keep breathing.

“And then I saw you.  I wasn’t going to call, I was just going to watch, and have Stanley deliver the message to you.”

“But, you called,” he answers, slipping his hand into hers, loosely.  Feeling a thrill when she wraps her hand around his and squeezes back.

They round the corner a block away into the alley, and it’s a van, sure, but he wasn’t expecting it to be _that_ van.  How did she manage to find it?

“Slide on in,” she tells him, like she’s rather proud of his reaction, as she disarms the security and pulls the door open.

“That's a good line,” he tells her, trying to sound a bit smooth as he slips his hands around her waist, and backs her against the door.

“I always thought so.”

He crashes into her, kissing her, pushing her up against the door, reckless and enjoying the rebellious mood it brings on.

To not have to be SHIELD, for a moment.  With her.  It’s like something out of a dream.

It’s not like he even expected to find her tonight.  He was just hoping for some info.  Finding _this_ , though, is totally unexpected.

“Get inside,” she says, quickly, excited and guiding him, when they hear the nearby trashcans banging around.

The space at the back of the van is small, and there’s a wall of electronic surveillance equipment, of course.  It’s very different from her setup when they first met.

“Guess you found something to do with that money,” he tells her, gesturing to what looks a whole lot like SHIELD’s security and it should.  She designed that, too.

“Some of it, yes,” she says, securing the exterior of the van with a tap of a few keys. “A lot of it went to Robin and her mom. At least I don’t have to worry so much about people breaking in these days.”

It’s moments like this. He could barely help himself before.  She’s just so good at everything she touches.  She’s been through so much and she’s still as amazing as she was the first day he met her, and even more still.

“I know that face,” she tells him, teasing, biting on her lower lip.  She takes his fingers between hers and tugs him towards the back of the van. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”

A few steps later, and they’re at the back of the van. There’s not much to see, except the small bed, but he thinks that might be the point.

“Is anyone going to miss you?” she asks him drawing his thoughts away from what could happen, as she sits down on the bed, and he follows.

“We’re spies,” he shrugs, and watches every tiny gesture, wondering.  Suddenly nervous about the idea of first times.  “I can make something up.  Tell them I was investigating the crime scene we were at.”

“That you’re still looking for Quake?”

“I’m not supposed to be looking,” he confesses, ducking his head down. “They took me off your trail weeks ago.”

“So this _was_ personal,” she answers, and he sees her eyelashes flutter for minute, and his heart does as well.

“ _Very_.”

She touches her hand along the front of his shirt, and then leaves it over his heart. “I’m sorry you were demoted.  If it was because of-“

“No,” he shakes his head, adamantly. “There were other reasons.  Not you.”

“What then?”

“I’m supposed to be dead.  SHIELD is a public agency now. Phil Coulson shouldn’t exist.”  He sees her reaction and goes on. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.  It’s unfair,” she says, as her hand drops to her knee. “You rebuilt it.  We all did, together. How can you not be angry?!”

“Daisy,” he interrupts, her, touching her arm, wrapping his hand around her shoulder. “I know why I’m supposed to be here.”

Her eyes widen, and her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Coulson, I can’t believe how corny you are.”

He can’t be insulted, though, because she’s kissing him, sliding her body onto his until she fits into his lap, pressing her thumbs into the hollow of his cheeks when he opens his mouth to her deepening kisses.

She hums against him, and it reverberates through him, that she’s so contented, as she pushes him back down against the small mattress.

This is perfect, on her own terms.  To let him just be here with her, as himself and nothing else.

“I’ve loved you, for so long, I’m not even sure what to call it,” he tells her, as he wraps his lips around the edge of her chin, kissing along it.

“It doesn’t need a name, then.”

She groans when he bites at her neck playfully, he grunts a small surprised sound as she runs the edges of her nails along the nape of his neck, through the short hair and then moves higher, tugging his head back.

“Is this okay?” she asks, out of breath. “Here? Like this?”

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, as she sits back and slides her jacket down her arms, then tugs the t-shirt beneath over her head.

“We’re spies, on the run,” she grins, seeing him taking in her naked breasts, and runs her thumb along his bottom lip, before she starts to unbuckle his belt.

“Like in the movies,” he smiles, lifting his hips up after she unzips him so she can pull the jeans down further, egged on by the fantasy.  “Disgraced former director,” he starts, his voice going higher when she gets her hand around him.

“With a thing for rogue Inhumans?  Very naughty.”

“If you keep talking like that,” he warns her, running his fingers along her darker hair. “This will be over _really_ quickly.”

“But I like the idea of you letting go.  Like you did your suits, and your ties,” she continues, brushing a finger across his stubble.

“Daisydaisydaisy,” he repeats in a string of syllables, as her hand starts to slide up and down the length of him.

He finds himself realizing the huge, ridiculous grin on his face, how much he’s always liked her taking control.

It never feels like he’s giving something up, it’s always like he’s gaining.

“Come here,” he pleads, reaching for her, knowing that he’s getting too close already.

Then he kisses her slowly, tenderly, and her hand starts to slow down to match this rhythm, but it’s too late for him.

It’s always been too late when it comes to her.

They kiss for a while afterwards, lazily, never mind the mess she’s made of him.

Because he plans on returning the favor as soon as he catches his breath.

 

 

 

#

They walk out of the 24-hour diner, and he thinks he’s never eaten so many pancakes in his life.

This has turned out to be a pretty wild night for him.

If this was a romantic comedy, though. Not one of those films with kidnappings and endless bullet casings, where you eat pancakes because you just survived.

No, this feels like the movie with a happy ending.

She sees the faraway look on his face, and tugs him against her side, as they walk back towards the alley where her van is.

As they pass by one of the tenements, he sees the old man on the stoop of the doorstep, locking his door behind him before he heads out.

“Stanley,” Coulson says aloud when the old man notices them after he reaches the bottom step.

“Guy,” the old man answers, then tips his hat at her. “Quake. Guy, what about my hat?”

“What about it?” he shoots back.  “You’re wearing it. And don’t you ever sleep?”

“Do you?” he asks pushing past him.  “See ya, Shakes.”

“Hey,” Coulson calls after him, tipping his chin up at him, as he slowly stops and turns around.

“What now?” the old man yells back.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”


End file.
